


Shake the Dice and Steal the Rice

by centaurslegs



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: 1990s New York City, Alternate Universe - Ball Culture, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Drugs, Eventual Romance, Mentions of HIV, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Secret Relationship, Vogue (dance), if I don't forget about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25673173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaurslegs/pseuds/centaurslegs
Summary: Two strangers. Two completely obverse lives.One might seem to struggle through life, being a part of a ballroom community where he is still looking for his place while taking care of his father, the head of the house of Suspiria. Trying to get his life on track, he does whatever he can to support himself and his family. It's not always an easy task, but there is one thing that makes everything bearable, that brings joy to all the folks around him, even in the darkest times - vogueing.The other might seem above everything at all times. His life is an allegory for the perfect life we always read about in magazines and see on TV. Maybe on the outside, he would tell you if you asked him about it. He tells himself he's got this, that this is what he wants and worked so hard for throughout all those years. Everything else is just white noise and money rules the world. He just needs to get the prestige and then he is out of the woods. Right?
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 21
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This story has been evolving in my head for a freaking year and a half and as time went by, there was no way for me to start it off. The topic of ballroom culture, vogue, and the entire underground subculture that was born in New York City in the 60s is something I'm very passionate about and maybe that was one of the reasons why I couldn't bring myself to put it on a paper. It's something that is so heavily complex and fascinating that I was, and to be quite honest still am, terrified that it might overwhelm me and by some unfortunate accident I end up disrespecting it. At one point my sister even told me that I was not mature enough to write it (I mean, truth) lol. But here I am, with the story that's been eating my lunch since December 2018 and nothing of this would ever happen without dear @FizzyBoo that I reached out to as a co-author because their writing and stories and ideas I cherish dearly. Unfortunately, they most likely happened to leave the fandom very unexpectedly, and we managed to work together only on a small portion of the story. I decided to keep their lines in hopes that it's okay with them and I just want to express a huge THANK YOU for them, for wanting to collaborate with me and for all of their time and effort.
> 
> This is entirely work of fiction. I'm treating these topics with uttermost respect and care and I hope that I will portray them as authentic as possible without any contempt.

**_The Bronx, New York City, 1992_ **

Today was good. It felt exceptionally good to have your pants dragged down by such a huge amount of cash. No, it was actually more than good, even Jim Franco said so and that guy was at sea when it came to dancing, not to mention voguing, but as long as he was squeezing money out of it, he managed. And tonight Timmy went like clockwork. Everybody was always a bit dumbfounded as soon as they saw what a gangly, longhaired weirdo like him could pull off on the dance floor. 

Street dance was always a safe choice and Timmy rarely lost a battle unless there was some dude who was doing head spins since birth. But once he started mixing it up with vogue, he was unbeatable. The bets just kept coming ’cause those folks loved risking just as much as rich douchebags did at the tracks. 

A white boy in underground Harlem was a curio. A white boy in Harlem underground that could dance was almost myth and Timmy was really damn proud to be one. 

The Bronx borough felt like a ghost town at this unholy hour, there was not a single soul except a few fuzz cars, bums, and a bunch of pimps strolling down the streets, acting all cool when in fact they were sticking out like sore thumbs. James drove them over the 145th street bridge to drop him off at home, but he was sure taking his time, enjoying the ride in his new, old school Cadillac. 

“Dude, you are obsessed with this fuckin’ thing,” Timmy remarked. Particularly hinting at Jim’s tender caress of the steering wheel. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he quipped with a grin, flashing Timmy a couple of his golden teeth. More than an excessive punter and a rook he looked like a pompous cartoon character. 

“What is the fucking point in saving money, anyway? Once I have the paper, I’d rather invest it, ain’t that right?”

Timmy just shrugged. He didn’t know any better to oppose that idea. 

“When’s the next gig anyway?”

“Look at him, the little boy’s got pockets full of benjamins and it’s still not enough for him!” James mocked him, laughing obnoxiously. “Don’t know yet. Gotta ask around n’ shit. It’s not that easy to set this stuff up, you know,” he explained and said nothing more after that in order to focus on the road. 

Timmy could only imagine what it took to arrange something like that. As James was skilled in the underground proceedings of hustling, drugs, and illegal gambling, he was also known around by many people, even trusted by some, but white and most importantly odd. It wasn’t so unusual for people to think he was an undercover cop, something which Timmy himself thought when James made a proposal to him one day at the Naumburg Bandshell, asking him if he’d wanted to make some money off dancing. 

Timmy was always easily manipulated into anything as long as it involved dancing. This, however, was not James’ only income, yet it must have been more profitable than the rest. Hell, just this night alone they were able to split it into seven hundred dollars each. 

As soon as they were driving up the hill on 149th street, Timmy suddenly realized that the sun was already peeking behind it. He panicked a little and began squirming in his seat. If James didn’t gas the damn car, Tim wouldn’t be able to get home before his father Luca woke up, meaning he was going to be put through a meat grinder. 

“These clubs get raided pretty often. The fuzz is busting our balls with their legal shit.” 

Timmy nodded. He knew that Jim loved to get some extra cash now and then, so he believed that he wouldn’t fuck him over, especially seeing how enthusiastic Timmy was about all of it. It was a risk for both of them, that was for sure, but hey, that was also part of the thrill. 

James pulled over at the sidewalk in front of Yolanda’s Pizza joint which was a couple of steps away from his place. Timmy always asked everybody who gave him a ride home to stop there so that nobody could see him through the windows doing anything fishy. But usually, it was only James or Mike. However, Mike rarely felt generous enough to give him a ride.

“Listen, whatever you do with that money, it has to last you for at least a couple of days. By that time, I’ll hit a few folks up, check out a few joints and I’ll let you know, alright?”

“That's cool man. I just… I got some shit to take care of. But it's not a big deal, this is fine for now,” Timmy said, waving with the thick stack of cash in front of his eyes. Jim laughed, patting Timmy’s left knee in a collegial gesture. 

“Alright, now get out of my car!”

Timmy did just so but his blood ran cold the moment he realized what awaited him upstairs in their small apartment.

“Check ya later, man!” shouted Jim as the car drove away. Timmy managed to hold up his hand and hoped that Jim saw it. 

Once he climbed up the stairs to the apartment, he was completely out of breath. The first sun rays were for sure already shining into his father Luca's bedroom. He still desperately hoped that he would be asleep. Fuck, he didn’t want to drag it out for that long, he didn’t even know what time it could be. James was always so loquacious in the most unwanted situations. 

He braced himself for the worst to come and walked down the corridor feeling as though he was walking for his own execution, despite the fact that Stéphane promised Timmy to cover up for him, only now he didn’t really think that it could be of help in any way.

The twist of the key in their rusty lock and then the blood-curdling screech of the door’s joints sounded agonizing. Timmy's face scrunched up to a pained grimace and then some. But what he heard next sounded way worse. 

“Timothée? Is that you?” It was Luca's calm and sonorous voice, heavily tinted with an Italian accent, coming from the kitchen. Timmy mouthed a quiet _fuck_ to himself, clenching his fists to his sides and tried to calm his floating stomach. However, he knew better than not to answer. 

“Y-yes, Father.”

“Would you come over here please?” This time it sounded a bit harsher. Timmy walked towards the kitchen which was behind the corner at the end of a long corridor. He stopped by the door frame, shoulders and head hanging low, looking like a frightened child that came to his parents in the middle of the night because he'd had a nightmare. 

Luca was sitting behind the table, drinking his first coffee of the day still dressed in a nightgown. The way he sat there, on his usual spot next to the window, he looked like some kind of dictator, someone you feel the urge to fall on your knees for. Timmy felt the tension rising. And more than feeling humiliated himself, Timmy felt bad knowing that he disappointed Luca yet again, the only thing was trying to avoid. 

“So? Can I get an explanation for the stunt you just pulled?” 

Timmy chewed on his lower lip furiously, fists in his pockets already dripping with sweat. 

“Were you where I think you were?”

It took Timmy a while before he could give him some type of answer. The silence was filled with a soft tapping of his nails on the table. Timmy forced himself to look Luca in the eyes and nod. 

“ _Mannaggia la miseria_ , Timothée, I strictly told you not to!” he yelled, no doubt waking up the other kids. 

“You are not going to start listening to me, are you? You are still going to sneak out behind my back, doing god knows what, making Stéphane, Barry, or Laverne cover-up for your stupid excesses!” 

Timmy knew Luca had every right to be mad at him. Or at least he would have if he didn’t know the true reason behind all this. 

Timmy’s jaw clenched and nostrils expanded with every breath as he was trying to fight every single tiny cell in his body urging him to burst out. Let Luca have him, he was just going to play the possum and then sleep everything off and then pretend that nothing of this ever happened. 

“You are wearing me out sometimes, Timothée. Why are you putting yourself and us at such risk? Why do you always have to do everything the other way around and not play along at least in something?!”

Timmy chose silence, he wasn't even sure if Luca wanted an answer. He felt like an ungrateful little bastard. Luca made it sound so horrid, calling alarm without acknowledging the situation or the fact that Timmy was just trying to help. There was nothing he could say or do to lessen his burden at this point. Luca was fuming with rage. 

“I have told you a million times, warned you just as much, even tried to be nice and make you stop by fair means but you are not respecting me as your father, Timothée.” Luca's voice became a lot calmer just as his stern look when Timmy looked at him after a long pause. 

“You are not attending the ball with others.”

“What?!” Timmy snapped. He suddenly felt like a junkie facing withdrawal. “You can't do that, that's not fair, father!” 

“You’ll tell me what's fair and what's not. You brought this upon yourself and now you are going to face the consequences,” Luca said as he sat there, without a single sign of distress. 

Timmy stomped over to him, took the handful of notes out his pocket, and held it up in front of her face but Luca didn't even flinch, he just kept looking at him with the same blank expression. It made Timmy wonder just how long he had been thinking that up, something so vile and mean, hearing Luca say it felt like having his leg cut off. 

“You know that this is for you, right?” Timmy hissed and slammed the cash on the table. The apartment was so old that Timmy heard the windows clack, he feared that they might give out any second. His head felt like it was about to explode with anger and frustration with the way Luca was looking at him as if he was doing Timmy an uttermost favor. 

“I worked really hard for this,” Timmy said after taking a deep breath, overlooking his own pride in order to at least sound collected. “It's enough to cover my share of the rent and your medical bills. You cannot blame me for trying and I'm trying… I'm trying so hard, father,” he said through gritted teeth but Luca wasn't impressed in the slightest. 

No matter how much money Timmy made, Luca never stopped questioning him. It really sucked that Timmy always had to be prudent, always had to look behind his shoulder. Timmy felt the tears blurring his visions and he felt pathetic. He hated solving things with crying but was willing to if the situation called for it. 

“The way you’re getting the money is gonna kill you sooner than the virus gets me. This is my final word.” 

“Father, I know that you are mad, but listen, I’ve been working on something really big, I learned this new move and everybody at Christopher's pier says that I'm gonna snatch it with my walk and…”

It was true. Timmy had indeed been flat out preparing for this week’s performance in the Savoy Manor ballroom. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had muscle pains this bad, nonetheless, he felt amazing about it. 

Compared to people who were performing in the vogue category, Timmy was still relatively new, but he was a quick learner, knocking off all the moves he saw at the pier and ballroom. He was obsessed with everything involving hip hop, therefore breakdancing was for him a child’s play. Voguing came later, around the time when Timmy found himself on the streets with a black trash bag filled with all his stuff. 

It was Luca who put some warm food in his belly after six days of surviving on pretzels which he bought for a couple of cents that people spared him for dancing his ass off. 

Suddenly he had a new home. In a community where he felt welcomed and accepted. They were not his biological family, but it felt more real than anything he’d ever had. 

In the ballroom scene, Luca was a father of the kiki house of Suspiria. It couldn't be compared to any well established major houses that had dance studios and dressing rooms and luxurious apartments. The kiki house served its purpose as a refuge, a place for the kids to feel safe and find their place in the community. 

After finding out about Luca’s background and his own history in the ballroom community, it felt weird that he even spared Timmy a glance in the first place. He was practically a native there, respected and stout Italian man with a big mouth and an even bigger heart. Still a bit of an outcast though, in a field dominated by African-Americans and Latinos.

Even his personality stood out -- Luca appeared snobbish and intimidating, always kept a stiff upper lip but, in reality, he was anything but, always trying to suit everybody’s needs, forgetting his own, for which he already paid a heavy price. 

However, there was only so much sweet talk. Luca's unamused face at Timmy's carrot dangling spoke for itself. He sighed, took his mug, and towered over Timmy, who for a second thought Luca was going to smash it against his head. This wasn’t the first time Timmy tried to maneuver Luca's decision, like the times when he met up with shady dudes in equally shady business. 

But this was way more important. Timmy wanted to start doing something with his life and he needed to practice in order to be seen on the top of the world dance scene! If Luca would just stop clipping his wings and grounding him. 

“Go to your room. And don't come out unless you have something meaningful to say,” Luca ordered him like he was some teenybopper. Timmy didn't have the audacity to object, even though his insides were boiling with rage, his mouth was unable to open. Luca was like a whisperer -- with his piercing green eyes, he could play anyone like a cheap flute. Timmy turned on his heels and ran to his room, making sure to slam the door hard enough to level this hell house to the ground. 

Timmy wanted to yell at Luca how much he hated him right now. He was hurting him, depriving Timmy of the only thing that stood between him and being tweaked out on the Deuce in Midtown with prostitutes. Timmy had to sleep it off, start with a clean slate before he was able to make any rational decisions. 

  
  


**_Financial District, New York City, 1992_ **

The fat man pursed his lips just as the lights were turned back on, unaffected and somewhat bored he scratched his bald spot and then coughed to get everybody's attention.

"Mr. Hammer, are you acquainted with our brand?" he asked dryly, his Italian accent was thick but he had good English.

"Please, call me Armie," he said, trying to smile despite the fear that was gripping his bowels. Armie tried to focus on the man's gold ring instead, it was hanging off his pinky and shined each time it caught the light from the fancy fixtures above them. He knew that if he looked at his face, he'd lose all his nerve and self-composure.

"Armie," the man said his name as if he tasted something rancid. "Well, are you?" he demanded.

Armie nodded, too eagerly perhaps but he was sweating under his collar and mauve colored tie and he couldn't quite find the right words to that question. This guy hated him, it was quite obvious.

"Of course he is," offered Henry with a smile when he saw how dumbstruck Armie was, "I'm sure it would be hard to find a member of our agency who is not," he said, coming to his rescue. Good old Henry, Armie could always count on the art director to save the day.

"My question is for Mr. Hammer," said the man acridly, and Henry stopped smiling, his face now slightly fallen.

 _Speak, Hammer! Goddammit!_ His own voice screamed in his head. 

"Yes" he finally managed to find his voice, "and I have also done my fair share of research before I even considered taking on this campaign." He was astounded that he managed to sound this calm despite the nerves that were wrecking him internally. This campaign was his big break, it was Versace for god's sake and he wasn't going to blow it. 

The man looked at him and then at his partner, who was taller and skinnier, both looked like the Italian version of Laurel and Hardy. 

"Then why in the world did you assume that this thi-"

"-what my colleague is trying to say is that we expected more from your agency," his partner interjected before the fat one had a chance to say something mean. "The presentation you have shown us lacks anything of what we hoped to capture with this collection," he explained with so many hand gestures that it was making Armie almost cross-eyed.

"Needless to say, Michael, we are very disappointed." He turned to Fassbender, the account executive. 

"Neither Santo nor Gianni himself would ever approve this." He shook his head almost apologetically.

"It's out of the question," huffed the fat one and crossed his arms on his ample bosom like a petulant child. If Armie's career did not depend on him being stoic right now, he'd laugh.

Fassbender smiled. "Marco, Marco, please, sit down." He gestured to the fat man in a calming, cooing tune. "Eduardo," he nodded to the slimmer partner as well and the two did as he asked. Armie marveled at Fassbender's smooth yet undeniable authority, no wonder they called him the spider behind his back, once caught in his web, just like a fly you couldn't get out.

"Armie is our top creative director, I can assure you are in good hands," he began his speech, his voice was deep and almost sensual as he spoke. "This is the reason we go back and forth, here at _Lehnsherr & Xavier _ we consider the client a member of the team, it's your input and collaboration that can make this campaign a success," he explained as he walked the floor before them, stopping each time for a dramatic pause and a disarming smile.

"It's not bad, it's just not edgy enough," said Eduardo.

The fat man, Marco, rolled his eyes. "To be quite honest I'm underwhelmed," he added, still resistant to the executive's charms.

Fassbender solemnly nodded. "Of course, I understand because we share a sense of purpose with our clients," he said. "It is the basis of our relationship… We just have to figure out what the objectives are."

Eduardo, the thin one, chuckled. "You're schmoozing us, Michael," he warned him in a friendly tone but it was obviously working. Armie was captivated, Fassbender was bullshitting them and it was working.

"Color me guilty but perhaps what we need is more resources, you must trust us to do our job," he said and flashed them another devastating smile. "If you do not trust us, see us on equal status," he subtly veered, "well then, there will be a breakdown in this relationship."

Suddenly he was no longer wooing them but playing the offended party, the shift was so cleverly crafted that Armie literally saw the two Italians begin to worry and sweat.

"Michael, we trust you," fat Marco quickly jumped up, "this is a collaboration! But please understand that your vision of it is somewhat lacking," he said.

"Yes, Marco!" Fassbender pointed at him and snapped his fingers, Marco beamed and reminded Armie of a pet poodle who just received a treat or a pat on the head.

Fassbender narrowed his eyes. "We have personal chemistry here and if we need more time to get Armie in the loop then so be it," he ventured. "I can assure you that once he's in, he'll do a marvelous job! There's no one I trust more with this campaign," said Fassbender as he walked over to where Armie was standing.

"Now do you trust my judgment?" he asked and put his hand on Armie's shoulder, squeezed it in a friendly manner.

"Well..." the two men gaped and then eyed each other dubiously.

"Nobody understands your views or mindsets better than me," added Fassbender when the two hesitated to comply.

Marco scratched his bald spot again. "You've never let us down before," he said, Armie could feel he was so close to caving in.

"And I don't plan on starting now," Fassbender assured him. "So what do you say, gentlemen?" He let go of Armie's shoulder and spread his arms like a biblical prophet, asking for divine inspiration.

Eduardo sighed, "Fine, you have four more weeks to come up with something to our liking," he informed them. 

"And it better be good," added Marco.

"Nice save," said Armie after the two left the conference room. Fassbender calmly watched the three men as they gathered their things, packing up the presentation.

"Yes, thank you," nodded Henry demurely.

Fassbender seemed to ponder something but then looked up at them and smiled. 

"Don't mention it," he said but it was directed only at Armie. "You got an extra month, don't blow it, Hammer." He pointed his finger at him like a gun and quickly left the room.

Matt groaned once the door shut. "Smug asshole....fuckin' suit," he muttered.

"He just saved our asses, I'd be a little more grateful if I were you, Matt," Henry chided the copywriter. 

Armie knew that Fassbender was not his favorite either but the art director had what one may call, company pride.

"What is it? You look pale, Armie," asked Matt.

Armie collapsed on one of the office chairs and closed his eyes in despair. "Yeah, where the hell do we start?" he wondered, they all put in so many hours of work into this presentation, he felt that it was his best idea, he was clueless. 

Matt chuckled. "As they say, back to the drawing board," he quipped. "For me, literally." 

Trying to feign cheerfulness but all three men present knew it was just a show. They all felt like the wind was knocked out of them.

So far Armie, Cavill, and Bomer made a good team, that's why Fassbender assigned them to Versace's 'Miss S&M' fall collection and everybody expected to be blown off their feet but after today's bombed presentation their future as the rising creative team of Lehnsherr & Xavier was uncertain, to say the least.

"I'm serious," moaned Armie. "This is a disaster." He buried his face in his hands

Henry shook his head. "We still have the job, Fassbender could have given Hiddleston the account in a heartbeat," he tried to reassure him. “No, I say we're lucky."

"Fucked is more like it," murmured Matt.

"Let's just take a break okay?" suggested Henry, once he sensed that their conjoined disappointment might vent in a form of disloyalty to the agency.

"Sure, I'll catch you guys later," said Matt. "Let me know when you want to start brainstorming." And left.

"Armie, relax, we can do this," said Henry as he too was leaving. "Four weeks is a long time," he tried to console him.

"Thanks, Henry," whispered Armie and looked out the window. 

Outside New York was bustling with the same uncaring beat as always, summer was almost here, he wondered how Liz, his fiancé, would take the news. He's been working his ass off for the past two months, night and day and now none of it was going to stop. 

In fact, he would probably have to put in even more hours just to get things done in time. Their wedding was set for October, and Liz was already complaining that she had to do everything herself.

Four weeks was not enough time but he could find something worthy, couldn’t he? To be honest, he wasn't so sure since he had absolutely no idea what might please the clients.

Armie was almost out the door when he heard someone call out to him. 

"Hammer, could you come in for a moment?"

It was coming from Fassbender's office. He had the best corner office with a view to match his prestige and hierarchy in the agency.

Shyly, Armie popped his head in. "Yes, Mr. Fassbender?" he asked, finding the executive lounged in his large leather office chair, eyeing him inquisitively.

"Sit." He gestured towards the chair just opposite him and Armie did as he said, he couldn't help but marvel at the skyline visible from the large floor to ceiling window, looming behind his boss. It was almost seven and the city was lit up like a Christmas tree.

"You look on edge," mused Fassbender, he had a way in which he squinted his eyes into tiny slits when he talked to a person, now making Armie feel like he was being questioned in some dark Gestapo basement and not in the lavish offices of one of New York's top advertising agencies. 

Ever since Armie got the job, the man had made him nervous. 

"To be perfectly honest, I am," he admitted, there was no point in lying so he just concentrated on trying to shake off the feeling of being interrogated.

"Calm down, I'm not going to chastise you," Fassbender chuckled, as he raked his fingers through his short hair, a bit ashy on the sides. "Personally, I thought you did a good job today," he said.

Armie smiled bitterly. "The clients hated it," he said and felt another surge of disappointment course through him, like a school kid he wanted to scream, _it's not fair_ , he worked so hard.

"What can you do?" The older man shrugged. "You win some, you lose some," he vomited the age-old cliché without so much as batting an eyelash. "Don't take this too hard."

 _Easy for you to say,_ thought Armie. A highly regarded executive with a fat paycheck to match but obviously, he refrained from saying anything. Henry was right, they were lucky that Hiddleston didn't get their campaign.

"I saw some of the work you did for Chambers," mused Fassbender as he toyed with a paperweight. "It's impressive, I think you're heading places."

"Thank you," Armie graciously accepted the compliment. After all, it wasn't like every day your boss said nice things about you, despite you screwing up royally.

Fassbender barked a short, dry laugh. "Of course, not if you blow this account," he said and this time his tone suggested something threatening.

"Of course," Armie agreed, going back to his first instinct to suspect the man. He wanted nothing else than to go now, he had enough of Fassbender for one day.

"Say, I'm going out for a little drink after work," he suddenly said just as Armie was about to excuse himself. "Care to join me?" he asked.

Armie smiled but felt the panic spread, a drink with his boss was the last thing he had in mind. 

"I don't know, sir, my fiancée is expecting me." Which was partially true, of course, Liz would have urged him to mingle with the suits, she would never be against major butt licking as long as it served one's ambitions.

"Call her, say you'll be late for dinner," Fassbender put the pressure on, subtle but nevertheless quite firm. "She'll understand, I'm sure," he said, not really giving Armie an option to decline his invitation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a small world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So there is some stuff going on in this chapter, hopefully it won't discourage the 5 people reading this. Also, I have a few chapters of this written, so I'm going to keep posting those. After that, let's hope that I'm going to be at least a little bit consistent in updating. Enjoy! <3

“Yo, dude, Tim?! Wake up!”

Stéphane's broad frame was hovering above Timmy like an apostle. His own face was buried in the pillow, barely breathing, barely registering what was happening around him. Stéphane kicked Timmy's thigh disdainfully, scrunching his nose at him like he was some kind of roadkill. The morning circus enabled him to shower and the only thing he managed was to strip off his clothes and zone off. So he must have stunk considerably. 

“Yo, Franco is calling you!” 

That name was enough for Timmy to spring out of bed. Jim knew never to call him home unless it was a matter of life and death, so naturally, he panicked. 

“Where? What did he tell you?” Timmy blurted out, completely disoriented. “Is Luca home?” 

“No, man, but why’s that skanky pimp calling you here?” Timmy ignored Stéphane’s alarms and excursions as well as his head violently spinning when he got up. 

He didn't even bother to put something on or wipe the sleep off his eyes before he sprinted to the landline in the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own feet to get it. He found the receiver swinging side to side by the wall. 

“Yes?” he asked breathlessly. 

“So, I got this thing delivered from some fucker in a tux that came out of a limo saying that it's for Mr. Timothée Chalamet,” James spoke snidely, pronouncing Timmy's last name in the worst way possible. Timmy cringed and palmed his forehead. 

“Now, I didn't know that your last name was _ Chalet _ or whatever the hell, but there’s only one person named Timothée in this town,” he mused but didn't sound particularly upset, just taking a piss, which Timmy was grateful for.

“What is it?” Timmy asked just to make sure, even though he already knew.

“Looks like a suit or some shit, I don't know. Why is it in my crib, though?” 

Quite frankly, Timmy would have almost forgotten about the fact that Michael was preparing something special for tonight. He tried to be mysterious and described the place as vaguely as possible but Timmy knew very well what a private club in Carnegie Hill meant. 

Of course, Michael wouldn't let any opportunity where he could dress Timmy up like a Ken doll slip. Actually, everywhere they went they looked like a couple straight out of Cosmo - the controversial part anyway, something which Timmy wasn’t always thrilled about. 

He loved walking in thousand-dollar outfits, sitting in 5-star restaurants, or at gatherings where he waited after by beautiful servers. And sometimes even actually shopping on 5th avenue. 

But he also felt like fish out of water, even though he really wanted to belong to this particular caste. That was when Michael Fassbender came to the scene. Sometimes a little bit surly, he had the power to change Timmy's everyday fuss upside down. 

Timmy usually wasn't open about his worries with him just as Michael on his part was never open to breaking the imaginary wall of sentiment between them. 

However, Timmy felt like he was taken care of in a way. Not to mention the fact that Michael was an exceptional lover. Even though the gist of this relationship was for both of them to gain something, Timmy couldn’t prescind the subtle bond they formed. This wasn't always a perk because Timmy was pretty sure that if it came to abusing it, Michael wouldn’t bat an eye. 

A few weeks earlier, after a quick fuck, while Timmy was enjoying the glory of hotel TV, Michael inconspicuously suggested the idea of going there and just to aggravate the situation, he wanted to surprise Timmy with a little something extra which he said would be sent to him on the very day of their night out. Not even the beautiful Kyle McLachlan in a rerun of Twin Peaks stopped him from jibbing. 

Luca would jump down Timmy's throat if he found out that aside from other dubious things he did Timmy had a sugar daddy, too. The first thing he thought of was Jim Franco's address. Timmy knew it could get embarrassing, but he just followed his survival instinct. 

“I'm sorry man, that was, uh, Michael.” Timmy paced around the kitchen, trying to think of some believable excuse. 

He looked up and saw Stéphane, Laverne, and Barry already filling up the door frame, having a mighty fun watching Timmy sweat and fluster. They all knew who Michael was but still refused to help him, even after Timmy's endless uhh-ing. 

“He… I work for that guy, it's just a new uniform he sent me.” 

It wasn't a lie, but for a second it made Timmy wonder if there was any other job more obvious than a sugar baby that James might have thought of. Meanwhile, those three were silently laughing their asses off. 

“The place I'm staying at is a little… anyway, don't worry it was just a one-time thing, it won't happen again, I swear.” 

Timmy flipped the trio a bird followed by a dramatic eye roll. 

“Listen, I may be daft but I ain’t stupid,” Jim said a bit grimly. “So cut the bullshit.” 

Timmy didn't know what to say to that, the line got swallowed in uncomfortable silence. 

“You gonna pick it up as soon as possible I assume?” 

“Yeah, I got some errands to run today, but I can be at your place in a couple of hours, alright?” Timmy's voice sounded small and hesitant, hoping that James would be okay with waiting. 

“Fine, but this shit better not happen again for real. I don't want no busybodies to nose around my crib,” James explained, making Timmy exhale heavily in relief. 

“Thanks, man, I really-”

“Not so fast, babyface,” James interrupted him. “I need you to sell some stuff for me in return. Pick it up tonight, when you get here, that would be perfect.” 

Timmy bit his lower lip, pondering for a few seconds. He didn't really want to pursue this field especially when his current situation was a bit rough. He needed to lay off that for a while or at least make himself invisible. But then again, to sell a few joints and papers didn't really sound like that big of a deal. Timmy really hoped that Michael was going to make it worth it. 

“Okay, no biggie. See ya-” but before Timmy could finish, James hung up without a word. 

Timmy sometimes felt as if Michael was doing this on purpose. Being all unpredictable and mysterious, keeping Timmy on his toes. He'd kind of had an idea about him when he saw him in that smelly scum pit in East Village. But was clueless about why he chose Timmy. 

Guys like Michael mostly went after trans girls, and while Timmy was trying to shoot his shot among them, he wasn’t sure if he could pull it off. Despite everything, he was a win, but in his essence, he was just like any other white-collar john. 

“Are you idiots done? I gotta go,” he said to the trio, shuffling from one foot to the other as if he had a full bladder. All of his Suspiria siblings, however, had different plans -- occupying the rusty door frame like an army. 

“Didn't you get enough this morning?” Laverne asked with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Yeah, the whole Bronx heard your fucking quarrel,” Barry added. 

Timmy looked at Stéphane who hadn't yet uttered a word but kept eyeing him accusingly, so as not to come off like a total hypocrite since he was supposed to cover up for him yesterday. 

“So, are you gonna have your take on me big style, too, you fucking traitor?” Timmy grunted, to which Stéphane only shook his head and scoffed. 

“How could you do that to me? I was begging you, you knew that Luca would go crazy!” 

“You know he’s sick Tim, why do you keep pushing his buttons all the time?” Laverne interrupted their intense staredown. 

“And y'all know how important that ball is for me! That I want to practice for those stupid auditions! And you also know that all the money I get, I spend on his bills, while you just keep whining about me being evil,” Timmy snapped. 

He'd had enough of these lax accusations. Neither Stéphane nor Laverne or Barry had stable jobs. All of them were grasping the first stinker they saw coming their way which usually paid absolute shit. No one was willing to acknowledge that it was mainly he who was supporting this household and Luca. 

“All I'm asking you is to keep your mouth shut in front of him, but no… you’re all a bunch of drama queens! Why are y'all making things so difficult for me? What did I do?” 

“Were just worried about you, that's all,” Laverne and Barry said in unison. These two had always been extremely close. Sometimes to the point of gross. Laverne was a very dominant persona, making Barry look like her little pet. Simply, an inseparable duo. 

“Well, you don't have to. I've got this.” 

Timmy broke through the barrier of three bodies and stormed out of the kitchen back to his room. Why was everybody so obsessed with him? It was starting to get too much. He lay down on his ratty mattress and lit himself a cigarette. 

Suddenly feeling really lucky that he was scheduled to meet up with Michael today. Timmy was in the need of a good fuck because his surroundings had started to overwhelm him. With Michael, he didn't have to think, he didn't have to worry. After dancing it was the only time when he could let go. Pretend to be someone else for a few hours. 

Timmy was enjoying his smoke with closed eyes. His mind wandering back to the pier, how excited he was to show everybody there how it was done. Vogue was his means to show those folks that he belonged there, that he deserved their attention, make them face their fear of knowing that there might be a white kid better than them. 

People loved to make fun of him, just because he dared to pursue something that wasn't made for a person like him. He was beautiful enough to walk in the face category, had a model-like figure for the runway category, but had nothing for vogue. 

Despite the obloquy, he never stopped believing in himself. Especially now in upcoming weeks when the New York City school of Vogue was holding auditions and giving out five free spots for the best dancers. Timmy couldn't think about anything else. 

An insistent knocking on the door interrupted his daydreaming. It was Stéphane. But Timmy was still too sulky, to talk to anyone. Timmy side-eyed him, then focused on the cracks in the ceiling instead. 

“Hope you are not busy or anything?” Stéphane mused jokingly, but it came out pretty lame. When he saw Timmy not really willing to answer, he sat down in the small armchair in the corner. 

It was awkward. Stéphane had obviously a head full of thoughts but didn't know where to start, while Timmy just passively waited and thought of possible comebacks for any type of bullshit Stéphane was about to come up with. 

“Look, I seriously didn't want Luca to know yesterday. I told him that you were dancing with that Euphoria's kid… Zendaya or what's her name. But then, he said that he was with Cudi at some diner and saw her with a bunch of other kids making a mess. I swear I'd never rat you out on purpose but he kept pushing until he made me spill.”

Stéphane looked exceptionally small at that moment, and Timmy almost felt sorry for him. They all knew how demanding Luca could be. He didn't want to argue with his best friend but at the same time, Timmy hated that in front of Laverne and Barry he acted like a saint. Now secretly went to apologize. 

Timmy decided that he was going to tease Stéphane just a little bit, stew him at least till the next day. 

“Well, Luca still forbade me to go to the ball,” Timmy said accusingly and started getting up. 

He picked up a new pair of jeans and an oversized tie-dye t-shirt. It was almost five in the afternoon. He should get going if he wanted to help Jim out and make it on time to meet Michael at eight sharp. 

“I gotta bounce, I don't have time for this right now. Don't forget to tell Luca that I'm with my sugar daddy, fuckin' our brains out, okay?” Timmy said and gestured Stéphane his way out as he held the door open. Very reluctantly he got up, face scrunched up in disgust. 

“Don't choke on any gray pubes,” Stéphane mumbled and smacked the back of Timmy's head. In return, he got a strong kick right up his ass and howled in pain. He was about to get back at Timmy but the doors got slammed in his face. 

If he were to choose, Timmy would never go for a guy on the street selling drugs in a two-piece suit and yellow turtleneck. He looked like a prototype pimp from the ‘70s -- pompous and extremely obvious. Time kept pushing through, and Jim was good-hearted enough to let him use his bathroom and millions of hair products to make himself presentable in front of anyone Michael might show him to. Timmy reckoned that it was something big, judging by the Givenchy suit he must have spent a fortune on.

James mocked him, begged Timmy to allow him to take a picture. One look at the drug lair that was Jim's apartment and two topless chicks making out on his bed, Timmy decided it was better to forgo everything and just leave as fast as possible. 

At first, he settled near Penn Station. The place was frequented by locals who already knew their way around but also tourists who were clueless about dealers' favorite spots and were lucky when they saw one already awaiting them. Timmy wasn't a real dealer, but he knew the basics. 

To avoid any strange looks he later moved to the Washington Square Park, where he met yet another completely different sort of people from NYU students to annoying bums without a penny. He preferred this place over any other, not only when it came to selling but also because Timmy just enjoyed the vibrant and yet somewhat calm atmosphere. 

Central Park was way overcrowded, the piers were too dirty and hectic. Washington Square was the golden middle way, a place where he went to be unrecognized. He liked going there and imagine he was someone else. With this look, it certainly worked because he felt truly ridiculous. 

As it was starting to get dark, Timmy asked some random girl the time. Eight-thirty gone, she said and Timmy thanked her, starting to panic a little because he didn't want to keep Michael waiting. 

He hated getting lectured by him regarding manners which apparently he was still capable of. Although he was kicked out by his biological parents, Timmy certainly wasn’t short of new ones. So far today was an absolute trainwreck and as he was running down the block to get to the club, he nearly cried. 

The club looked like anything but, from the outside. Timmy even pondered for a few minutes about going in, looking around the block whether he accidentally missed because it reminded him of a bank rather than a prominent sex club. 

Eventually, he decided to risk it and figured his way inside the lobby, blending into a small crowd of fancy-looking people. However, from the inside, he felt like he suddenly appeared in the red light district. There were no prostitutes in the windows, showing their assets, but they certainly weren't fooling anyone. 

Nobody batted an eye which Timmy considered to be the perks of his formal wear. If only they knew how drenched in sweat he was. Even his curls must have looked like a disaster. Timmy went straight ahead towards a huge bald man in a black tux with a small clipboard in hands and a very stern expression. 

“May I help you sir?” the man asked with a polite smile. He tried to consolidate, put a strait of his curls behind his ear, and wipe off a few droplets of sweat from his upper lip to look at least a bit more presentable. 

“Yeah, you can, uhm… I'm here for Mike Fassbender? Can you tell me if he’s already inside?”

The guy lifted an eyebrow at him, probably thinking that Timmy was pulling his leg. Timmy huffed a laugh.

“Come on, please, can you take a look?” Timmy begged but the snobby idiot practically despised him with his look. “My name is Timothée Susp- I mean Chalamet, I'm supposed to be his date tonight” he tired to play his little slip cool, hiding behind a confident facade, praying that it would work and not be called security on. 

But the guy didn't move an inch, he looked like one of the Queen's guards and Timmy was starting to get frustrated. Michael was going to have his ass for being late and making him look stupid. Again.

“Look, I really need to get inside or at least you to tell me if he's already there or not,” Timmy pleaded. “I'm sure you have a note somewhere that I'm his plus one tonight. Would it be so difficult to just check it?”

“I'm not moving until you give me a piece of information.” Timmy stomped his foot down like a sulking brat. After a while, even the unassailable bouncer had enough of him. If looks could kill, Timmy would be already lying stiff on the floor. Then the guy finally but very reluctantly lifted his clipboard and eyed its contents.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked without looking up. Timmy composed himself and his crooked smile made a comeback. Combing his hair back he started spelling out his name.

“It's T-I-M-O-T-H-E-E with two e's at the end, last name C-H-A-” 

“Sorry, there is no one with this name on the list,” the bouncer interrupted him. He was annoyingly adamant. 

_ This douchebag doesn’t know who he's messing up with _ , Timmy thought and shook his head in disbelief how arrogant the guy was. He didn't even bother to look him in the eyes. 

“You barely looked in the damn list, don't try to tell me that-”

“There are not that many people on that damn list for me to not notice your name, sir. And I can assure you that it is not here,” he interrupts him uncompromisingly. 

“Is this how you treat all of your guests Mr.,” Timmy paused to take a better look at his well-polished golden name tag, “Mr. George? Because I'm very unimpressed by your behavior towards me,” he said angrily. 

Timmy didn't want to stir shit up, especially in a place like this, he didn’t even have an ID on him (which was only for the better since his twenty-first birthday was still a couple of months away) but this guy was deliberately disrespecting him without even trying to get his facts straight. 

“All I want to know is if Mr. Michael Fassbender is already inside, you could ask him yourself about me and just see what he tells you,” Timmy insisted but it was pointless. It felt like beating a dead horse. 

“You're gonna pay for this, you hear me?” His thread was mostly empty, but it still triggered the bouncer enough to pick up his radio and blur out some codes which Timmy didn’t understand. 

“Okay, so now you are calling your boss on me, huh? You're gonna get so fired after this, just wait till Mr. Fassbender finds out about you treating me like shit,” Timmy almost yelled at him, not giving a toss about anyone that could hear him. 

This was exactly why he hated places like these -- he was nothing without Michael. Just another hooker, another druggie trying to get his way in without even being looked at. 

Another man was coming their way in no time. This time a lot younger in a black suit and red shirt that matched the atmosphere. If Timmy wasn't now petrified and fuming with rage, he would have even found him hot. 

“Good evening, sir. Is there anything I can help you with?”

***

“Come back around two AM, Simon,” Fassbender patted the driver’s shoulder and got out of the car. 

Armie abhorred at his request to the driver. Where the hell was he taking him? Armie wanted to protest that it was way too late but Fassbender was already making his way out of the car. Armie lingered for a second. Any excuse now seemed invalid, Fassbender would have it his way anyway. Eventually, Armie just decided to give in. 

“I hope you won't mind if someone joins us,” asked Fassbender with a conniving smirk. Armie didn't really care, he already felt weird enough. Thankfully those few drinks he'd had in the bar were making the whole situation more bearable. 

“By all means,” Armie said finally, and let his boss lead the way inside a quite lucrative looking building. 

Armie imagined another bar or a restaurant maybe with one of Michael’s business partners already waiting for them. Instead, they appeared in a dimly lit foyer, illuminated only by hot red neon lights. A couple of people were already queueing at a small reception but Michael didn’t pay them any attention.

“Follow me, Armie. Don't want you to get lost in here,” he said as they briskly walked past them towards another entrance. 

Armie didn’t even have time to realize what this place actually was. It smelled like incense and they were surrounded by mirrors instead of actual walls. More than anything it felt like some occult residence but at the same time he was fascinated by it. 

Armie was too busy looking around himself that he almost missed that overbearing person trying to get their way inside as well but unsuccessfully. Otherwise, a quiet place was filled with an unyielding fuss. Compared to the sternly looking, even taller than Armie bouncer the person looked like a splinter. Armie couldn’t catch what was their quarrel about but words like “disrespectful” and “fired” and “I’m gonna make sure he knows about this” he heard perfectly.

Fassbender suddenly stopped walking. From afar observing the tense situation in front of them without uttering a single word while Armie just stood there bewildered. Only deciding to intervene when there was another, a smaller guy in tux making his way towards them. 

“Hey, excuse me, gentlemen,” Fassbender interrupted. “What seems to be the problem here?” he asked as he nonchalantly approached the three. 

The person turned out to be a young boy, maybe even too young to hang around a place like this. His face was in pure horror when he saw Fassbender suddenly towering above him. 

“Welcome, Mr. Fassbender,” said one of the bouncers, extending his hand towards him. He looked fairly pissed. “This young sir claims to be here with you and demands an entrance. He is rude to my employee and I even bet that underaged.”

Fassbender tut-tutted, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulder. Armie was dumbfounded, was this the extra person his boss was talking about? 

“I apologize for the nuisance, Mr. Chalamet is, indeed, with me tonight,” explained Fassbender. “I guess there must have been some sort of misunderstanding, Mr. Miller. I specifically gave your staff notice about it when I made the reservation.” Armie sensed that Fassbender was getting irritated, yet still kept a friendly tone. 

“I will make sure to check it, sir. But this behavior will not be tolerated in our club,” said the guy Miller. 

“We appreciate your presence and loyalty, but there are certain rules here that I’m sure you are aware of.”

“I will make sure to keep that in mind,” Fassbender hissed through his teeth with a hint of a smile in his voice. 

Armie noticed how his grip on the boys tensed, making him sway away a couple of feet from him. 

“Find me later inside, so we can resolve this faux pas in private, why don’t you. Oh, and this gentleman will be joining us tonight as well.” Fassbender gestured towards Armie, who suddenly wasn’t just an invisible passerby. 

“Certainly, Mr. Fassbender,” the guy eyed Armie at first from head to toe and then pulled the politest facade he could master, bidding all of them goodbye. 

It became rather awkward suddenly. Arme just stood there while he was watching the boy stubbornly leaning against the wall, out of reach for Fassbender who, judging by his clenched jaw, was fuming internally. 

"Timmy, Timmy,” Fassbender chided him as he shook his head and smiled, "come here for a second." He curled his finger and beckoned the kid. Armie could tell the man was getting impatient.

"I'm not going anywhere," said the kid, chin up in defiance. "Fuck you," he cried and smiled acridly while giving him the finger.

Fassbender looked at Armie and shrugged with a wry smile as if to say, 'what can you do?’

"You know I don't like you like this," he growled at the kid. "Irritated," he explained, trying to keep his cool by not letting the smile off his lips but it was obvious the kid was pushing his buttons.

"I don't give a shit, I'm not your toy," the boy said, bouncing back and forth on his heels as if he would take off in a sprint any minute now.

"You need to calm down," said the older man and started to move in on the kid, cornering him against the wall. "You're making a scene," he hissed.

The kid threw up his hands but Fassbender caught his wrists. "Let me go!" the boy demanded, trying to free himself from Fassbender's clutch.

"Did you not understand me?" the man asked before twisting the kid's hands.

"Stop it, you're hurting me!" he cried out, the look on his face suggested he was not lying.

"Keep quiet and I'll let go" Fassbender calmly assured him but then twisted harder.

The kid yelped. "Okay, okay just...ahh," he begged, squirming and trying to move somehow, in any direction in order to relieve the pain before Fassbender relented and eased his grip.

"Good boy" he quipped. "Now what's the matter huh?" he asked, placing his hand on the boy's cheek quite affectionately but neither Armie nor the kid himself were any much convinced by this.

"Nothing," the kid shook his head and refused to look at him, shying away from his touch.

"You need a little hit, baby?" he whispered, slowly caressing his hair. "Is that it?" he wondered. "That's why you're all stressed out..."

Timmy looked up hesitantly. "Maybe, you got somethin'?" he asked, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Fassbender cupped the kid's face. "Come here, daddy will sort you out." He kissed the top of his head. "Hmm?" he cooed him, urging him to come into arms.

The kid relented and let him touch him.

"That's a good boy." He patted his back as he hugged him, rocking him like this for a moment. 

Then took out a small vial from his jacket's inner pocket, uncapped it, and pushed out a small amount of white powder on the back of his hand.

"Here you go." He grinned and lifted it to the kid's nose, who in return smiled back at him and proceeded to eagerly snort the bump. 

"All better?" He ran his fingers through the kid's curls.

"Yeah." Timmy nodded, finally subdued.

Fassbender nodded with appreciation. "Now, behave yourself," he warned the kid. "We don't want Armie thinking bad things about you." 

He turned towards Armie who stood shocked, looking bewildered by the scene he had just witnessed.

"I'm not..." Armie quickly began to assure them he had no ill thoughts when in fact he had an urge to turn tail and run from this craziness.

"Don't mind Timmy," Fassbender ignored him. "He gets a bit upset every now and again but we're working on it," he said and guided them both towards a table. 

"Please apologize," he ordered the kid as they sat down, his tone implied he was not to be trifled with.

"Sorry," Timmy blurted out, quickly looking up at Armie and then timidly lowering his gaze. Armie could tell it was not because he felt embarrassed by his outburst but more to the fact that Fassbender had such control over him.

"Kids these days, no manners at all," the older man chuckled and patted Timmy's back. "Armie this is Timothée Chalamet, my lovely companion for this evening." He grinned and then gestured towards Armie. "Timmy, meet Armie Hammer... my associate."

"Hey," the kid mumbled.

"Nice to meet you," said Armie and looked at his watch. It was already half-past ten, Liz would soon go to bed and he was still not home. She would demand to know where he was in the morning and he tried to think up a good cover story. 

Frankly, anything but the truth would be good. He could practically see the passive-aggressive notes on the fridge about his freezing cold dinner being inside and that she too, is having a ladies night that day. Armie sighed internally at that image but tried to remain his cool on the outside. 

One of the club's goons, dressed in a dark purple suit, came up to them and whispered something in Fassbender's ear. He nodded graciously. 

"You two get to know each other while I'll go get us some drinks and fix this mess," he said and got up to follow the goon. "Be a good boy now," he said offhandedly to Timmy. As he got up and was ready to walk away, he tried to search for the boy’s look. When he got it, Armie would describe that small wordless interaction as deadly. Something in the lines of  _ try to embarrass me and you’re dead.  _

"Sure," Timmy snorted after Fassbender was out of earshot. 

He then looked at Armie and studied his face, the silence was pretty uncomfortable and Armie had no idea where to begin. What do you say? How does one chit chat with his boss's male lover? 

"You look uncomfortable," mused Timmy and offered a smile. The kid was gorgeous, Armie had to give him that. He had white porcelain skin, long dark curls, and fine chiseled cheekbones. As far as he could see it, he couldn't question Fassbender's taste.

"I suppose I am," he chuckled, trying to ease the tension between them.

"Because of me?" Timmy wondered, flicking an unruly curl from his forehead in a very mannish gesture.

Armie shrugged. "Well, the whole situation is kinda crazy," he suggested. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Timmy snorted. "Not really," he said. "Not if you know Mike."

"Well, I don't know him that well," admitted Armie, at least not nearly enough as he thought. This austere but charismatic boss of his was showing him sides to himself that Armie wasn't sure he was ready to see.

"Maybe that's why," the kid quipped, leaning back in his seat. "So you work with him?"

Armie nodded absentmindedly, more focused on trying to find the pack of his Pall Malls in some of his pockets to occupy himself somehow. Or to fit in maybe. The room was filled to the brim with smoke. 

"Can I?" he asked when he saw Armie pull out the packet at last. 

"Sure" Armie gave him one and lighted it for him. "Yeah, he's my boss actually," he answered and lighted another for himself.

"Interesting..." Timmy exhaled a long puff of smoke as he watched him intently, Armie had a feeling he was making fun of him.

"I don't think I follow."

"I've never met his actual co-workers before," said Timmy and took another hit. "Guess it's because I'm his dirty little secret," he explained wryly. "But he must like you if he brought you here."

"Here..." mused Armie and clearly looked around him for the first time. At the table beside them, a woman had just taken off her panties and handed them to the grey-haired gentleman beside her, in turn, sighed and sniffed them. 

Armie choked from the shock and began coughing on the smoke of his cigarette. 

"Did I just see what I think I saw?" he asked.

"Yeah," the kid nodded, amused by Armie's seeming innocence.

"What is this place?" wondered Armie, they sure as hell weren't in Kansas anymore. Where did Fassbender bring him?

"You mean you don't know?" The kid chuckled.

"I assume this is some sort of a private club?" Armie asked, he wasn't too sure in his own assumption anymore. 

Well, not now when he noticed that a topless woman was sitting right across from him.

"Oh man, Mike sure has a twisted sense of humor," mused Timmy, he was extremely amused with the whole affair. 

"Look around, Armie," he suggested, swiping his hand in a _ lo and behold _ gesture. "What the  _ fuck _ do you think this is?"

He could notice a lot more half-clad people around them, some were already making out, touching each other without reserve.

"Is this a...?" He was hesitant to say it out loud, sex wasn't a word he was accustomed to say just like that, in public, to a stranger.

"Wow, you're actually turning red," Timmy remarked while Armie was trying to get in touch with his surroundings. 

It wasn’t every day he’d got a chance to see people being this… open, to put it mildly. He swallowed thickly, feeling like a seven-year-old that just walked in on his parents having sex for the first time in his life

"You're kinda cute when you blush, did you know that?"

"I'm what?" Armie couldn’t believe his ears. Was this boy hitting on him or was this place already making him go crazy? 

"Maybe even more than cute," he murmured and leaned a bit closer, resting his chin on his palm. It felt as if he wanted to take a closer look, inspect Armie more carefully to form his opinion. 

Armie just sat there, dumbstruck, feeling like some sort of guinea pig and completely hypnotized by the look of that mysterious boy. "No, in fact...you're very good looking."

They were both in a trance. All he was aware of was the strange fog surrounding them and the way Timmy’s red lips twitched into a small smirk the longer they kept staring at each other. They must have looked ridiculous but then it wasn’t like anyone would have no better things to do. 

Soon, Armie saw Fassbender walking back towards them with three whiskey glasses in his hand behind Timmy’s back. Immediately he straightened up and smoothed over his suit with his hands. It almost felt like they were caught doing something they shouldn’t have, especially not in front of Fassbender’s eyes. 

_ Calm down, _ you idiot, Armie chastised himself and made a mental note to come with a more convincing excuse for the next time. He would be more than glad to miss another gaffe like this. 

"Well boys it's all good now, sorry it took me so long," Fassbender announced and put his arm around Timmy’s shoulders in what Armie would call a deliberately possessive manner. That boy didn’t even flinch, still kept his dopey smile, still had his hand propped on his palm. 

He knew very well what he was doing and even though it might have looked the other way around, Fassbender was eating out of his palm. 

“Here's the scotch, bottoms up!" Fassbender urged. Armie found the drink quite useful now. Downing it in one go, he sighed blissfully alongside Fassbender. Timmy didn't even touch his glass. 

"So, have you two chatted?" 

Armie’s eyes flew over to Timmy who seemed to drop even the last ounces of attention he had for Armie. The kid suddenly looked bored out of his mind, pouted and shrugged vaguely as if they were playing puzzles this whole time. Armie should have been relieved, so then why the offense?

“Good, I knew you two would get along,” Fassbender commented, smiling at both of them. His arm never leaving the boy’s shoulders. 

“Drink Armie, you'll need the sustenance.” 

There was mischief in Fassbender’s eyes. Or was it a challenge?

"You see, the problem, Armie, is that you're too damn soft," said Fassbender. He was smoking his smelly cigar while Timmy sat in his lap, idly playing with his hair and running his palm over his chest, opening the top two buttons and sliding his long fingers inside.

They were on the fourth round of whiskey and everything was starting to get all warm and fuzzy. Armie usually handled his alcohol well, but the tiredness and all the stress was rousing on him in a form of pleasant tipsiness. 

"They hate the whole thing?" he asked with a snort. "Fuck 'em, go harder, blow their asses out of the water next time," he urged him, but Armie was too spellbound by what Timmy was doing. 

He had his pink tongue out and was thrusting it into Fassbender's ear, sucking on his ear lobe, and at one point, Armie could swear, he intentionally looked at him and smiled. The kid was teasing him.

"I have no idea where to start," Armie mumbled, he was feeling very strange, he knew that he had far too many drinks and he knew he was on the verge of being incredibly drunk, he didn't want to do something stupid.

"For starters stop being a prude, this is supposed to be sexy," his boss carried on, almost unaffected by the lithe young body squirming in his lap. "Risqué!" he cried out and downed the last drags of his scotch, slightly wincing at the burn. 

"This is not a Sunday dress for gammy," he explained. Armie chuckled.  _ You would know all about it _ , he thought almost soberly. 

The situation was so ridiculous he had no idea how to keep a straight face, looking at his boss sitting across from him with a twink on his knee, trying to keep a conversation while people walked half-naked all around them, doing God knows what and with who. Maybe he was a prude, but this was beginning to be too much.

"I'm tired of you two talking," Timmy suddenly huffed. "Are we gonna do this or what?" he whined childishly.

Fassbender laughed. "You have no patience whatsoever," he chided the kid as he ran his thumb on his plush nether lip.

"I got shit to do." Timmy shrugged, unaffected.

"Did you hear that, Armie?" he laughed again as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "You got shit to do… I swear Timmy, sometimes you're just too much." He shook his head and rubbed the back of Timmy's neck, perhaps a bit too rough as Armie could see Timmy wince a little and then roll his eyes.

"You want him too?" Timmy asked, nodding absentmindedly towards Armie.

Fassbender smiled at him and then at Armie. "No, no Armie can take care of himself, can't you?" he asked, his tone was making Armie feel incredibly uneasy. 

Did he catch their earlier exchange perhaps? This Timmy could potentially wreak havoc on his career just by making Fassbender jealous with his carelessness.

"I'll be fine," Armie assured him, hoping it proved he wasn't interested at all when in fact the idea was somewhat driving him mad. 

What was it about this kid that was so thought-provoking? So enticing? He never thought he'd ever had such notions about another man but there it was, he was attracted to this kid, there was just no denying it.

"You'll be better than that," mused Fassbender. "See the brunette on your right?" He tilted his head slightly, pointing her to Armie's attention. "She's been ogling you all night, go to her, I think she wants to be friends."

"I'm not..." he began stuttering. 

The woman was indeed looking at him with such an intense gaze that it was quite obvious what she had in mind. 

"You know I'm engaged, I have a fiancé," he managed to finally say.

"You're a riot Hammer" Fassbender chuckled, catching the boy's chin between his thumb and forefinger pulled him closer. "Come on Timmy," he whispered against his lips before kissing him.

Armie watched the exchange in utter disbelief, watching his boss play tonsil hockey with the kid was so weird but he could feel his own cock twitch, sending a surge of heated shame all over his body.

"Have fun," said Timmy with a smirk as the two got up and left.

The main room seemed to clear not long after Fassbender and Timmy left, everybody paired up or grouped up so now only he and the luscious brunette remained. Another couple was busy eating each other out and didn't seem to mind anything at the moment as Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus blared through the smoky lounge.

_ Your own personal Jesus _

_ Someone to hear your prayers _

_ Someone who cares _

Armie downed another drink and quickly got up, trying to get away from temptation's way. It was bad enough that Fassbender dragged him here, Liz could never know about this night or she'll have a fit and her daddy will surely hunt him down and shoot him. You don't mess with Texans and their little girls if you don't want an ass full of led.

He found himself in a long corridor, there was little to no light at all except a dull illumination coming from one end. He quickly walked towards it discovering that he had entered a round, fish tank-like room with couches. Each section of the fish tank gave a view to a different room, in which various sexual acts were performed. 

He was alone as he walked along the room, everything around him seemed to be made up in velvet and blood-red plush carpeting. He was eying the floor to ceiling glass windows and felt himself grow hard. Sometimes there were up to five or more people engaged in various sexual acts, naked bodies tumbling over each other with careless abandon.

_ Feeling unknown and you're all alone _

_ Flesh and bone by the telephone _

_ Lift up the receiver, I'll make you a believer _

He kept going until he saw Fassbender and Timmy in one of the rooms, the boy was kneeling in front of the older man, he was now completely naked and stroking his own cock as Fassbender opened his fly and took out his erection, pushing it into the boy's eager mouth. 

Armie was startled, he should go, find the exit, and bolt. This was so sick, so perverse and yet he couldn't stop staring at the two. If they could see him, they gave no indication of it as they carried on. Timmy was spluttering around Fassbender's considerable girth as he pumped into him, Armie could swear he could hear the boy's moans.

_ Take second best, put me to the test _

_ Things on your chest, you need to confess _

_ I will deliver, you know I'm a forgiver _

"They're gorgeous, aren't they?" He heard a smoky voice behind him and as he turned, he found the brunette standing with her arms crossed, a look of amusement on her pretty face. 

She was older than him, early forties perhaps but her body was slim and graceful, her face in perfect makeup.

"What?" he mumbled, ashamed to have been caught. "No, I'm not..." he tried to find excuses but he was in vain. 

"I knew I'd find you here," she said calmly as she came towards him, her long fingernails tracing a line on the sofa beside her. "Why did run away from me?" she wondered, her right hand came up to play with his tie, slowly loosening it up.

Armie smiled but took her hand and removed it. "You're very attractive but I'm not looking for an-"

He hadn't had a chance to finish what he wanted to when she suddenly pressed herself to him and silenced him with a kiss. "No, this is not what I..." he managed to say as he pushed her gently away but she did not relent and went down on her knees and fumbling with his fly, set his cock free. 

"Fuck," he gasped as she took him in her mouth, her heat enveloping him and Armie couldn't help but dart a glance towards Timmy and his boss.

"You can pretend that it's him," she said in between licking the length of his shaft.

"This is so dirty, looking at them like this," he muttered. "Do they know we can see them?" He closed his eyes when she took him deeper, he had to stop this but his mind was so fuggy with alcohol that it seemed impossible to resist her.

"Of course, that's the whole point," she giggled, licking his slit with the tip of her tongue. "Look at him." She casually tossed her head towards Timmy who now mounted Fassbender and guided the man's cock inside him.

She smiled and cupped Armie's balls, gently rolling them. "He knows you're watching," she said, "he's putting on a show for you." And indeed there was something true about what she said, Timmy rode him in reverse d cowgirl style, one hand supporting himself while with the other he clasped his own cock, throwing back his head, undulating with each thrust.

"Can he see us?" Armie asked, he couldn't help but slightly panic at the thought, the room suddenly tilted and seemed to spin. 

"No, but he knew you'd come here," she said, he could feel her breath on his naked thighs as she pushed down his pants, "same as I did," she remarked, smiling up at him.

Armie wanted to protest but she was becoming a blur, he was so far away from any of it like his body was not even responding anymore.

"Now relax, sexy," she purred and pushed him back on one of the sofas, "let me take care of you." He heard her say and the world went black around him as the raunchy guitar riff played in his ears.

_ Reach out and touch faith _

_ Reach out and touch faith _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. The boys are confused in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooooooo extremely happy about the response this story got after the second chapter. Thank you all so very much for reading and commenting both here and on Tumblr, it means so much to me. This chapter is a small interlude compared to the previous one, but hope you'll like it. <333 Also, my work schedule and personal life are getting pretty packed, so apologies in advance for late future updates.

Moments, when Timmy was woken up by the sound of the shower running right on the other side of the wall, were pretty rare. It meant that he was in Michael’s apartment. Even though he was not going to be walked in on by housekeeping or yelled at by receptionist for not leaving the room on time, he wouldn’t be able to bask in the luxury of it all, long after Michael left to present an appropriate font for a toilet paper ad to douchey and neurotic clients or whatever. 

It all made Timmy think about last night, especially about the fact that they must have been in a terrible state if Michael decided to have them dropped at his place. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make much of yesterday, or at least what happened after they left the kinky looking version of the spaceship from 2001 The Space Odyssey. 

Timmy tried to put his thoughts in order, they were crashing into each other and it hurt hideously -- he needed to finally remember not to mix hard drugs with alcohol. This combo always did him good in a sense of terrible hangover and amnesia. If anything, the pain gave him a mere idea of how they’d looked. Instead of torturing himself more about the possible image, he decided to snuggle deeper into the warm and comfy covers. 

The only thing that wouldn’t leave him alone, however, was that Michael’s colleague who acted as if he’d never heard the word sex, not to mention in connection with a club. Timmy actually didn’t even know what happened to that guy after, these dudes were prone to flop too soon when it came to getting drunk or being adventurous. Especially when their significant others were grasping them by their balls hard enough to turn them blue. 

For some reason, Timmy couldn’t part with that blush on his face when Timmy told him that he was attractive as if he'd never heard that before. A guy like him -- Arnie? Archie? Oh, Armie -- a guy like Armie couldn’t have possibly been short of compliments like that with those genes. Or when he saw him later on in the darkroom with that brunette. Just like Timmy assumed -- still waters run deep. 

Armie might have looked like a pile of nerves, but behind all that, there was hiding someone, who under the auspices of Michael Fassbender could have easily turned into a monster. 

Timmy had seen a fair share of shit, assholes were constantly hitting on him and could barely face the rejection, but in this world, you could hardly ever see such bashfulness, almost innocence even. Armie was intriguing, Timmy had to give him that, but he didn’t have time for that. Especially now, when Michael was coming out of the shower, dragging a gentle mist behind him all the way to the closet. 

Timmy watched his vigorous movement from shelf to shelf, while he was picking out the best outfit for today. The towel around his hips was thoroughly defining his hip bones and V cut and the more Timmy observed, the more difficult it was to resist any lewd thought. Michael hung a few items over his forearm and walked to the bedroom, placing everything on top of the messy sheets, completely ignoring Timmy in the process. 

Timmy narrowed his eyes at him, while still being wrapped up in the sheets like a human burrito, only his face sticking out and a couple of naughty straits of hair. Michael never backed out from a quickie before work when they were together, which now made Timmy question if he was still mad at him for what happened yesterday. It sure didn't feel like it yesterday when Michael sucked his cock as if his life depended on it. Timmy decided to test the waters, turning onto his back and kicked the sheets off of himself. His cock wasn’t fully hard, but it was well on its way. 

“Why so frowny, Mr. Fassbender, when you’re starting your morning with such a nice view?” Timmy teased and stretched out like a cat while presenting his body shamelessly to Michael who seemed too busy picking out the right tie that would match his suit. 

He didn’t spare him a glance and Timmy wasn’t having that.

“The burgundy will go better with that, while with the blue one you could maybe-”

“Actually, we could maybe talk about what happened yesterday, instead,” Michael interrupted him. “I would love to hear something from you, cause you are starting to get too cocky for my liking,” he said matter-of-factly and for the first time actually looked at Timmy, rather outraged. 

Timmy should have known that Michael wouldn’t give this a rest and yes, he'd probably crossed the line yesterday but it wasn’t like it would be idle. Those people treated him like trash, was he supposed to just stand there and kiss the rod? 

Timmy rolled his eyes at him and huffed. His earlier feisty mood now faltering completely. 

“I seriously can’t believe that you wanna drag me for this again. I said I was sorry yesterday, what else you want me to do? Crawl on my knees and beg you for forgiveness?” Timmy said as he pulled the sheet over himself again and turned around to face Michael with his back. Had everybody gang up on him? Yesterday it was Luca, today Michael, Timmy wondered who else was going to have his share on him next. 

“And I ain’t being cocky. I just don’t wanna be hassled around by people,” he mumbled angrily. 

“No, Tim, you need to understand that these tricks of you playing the victim or acting as if nothing fucking happened won’t work anymore. Not that they ever even worked before, but yesterday you made me look like a fucking idiot and that is something I won’t let happen, ever again, do you understand?” Michael’s voice was stern and Timmy heard some shuffling behind him and clinking of a belt. 

For a second he stilled, thinking that Michael was so angry he was about to whip him and turned around in case. He saw him putting on his suit and immediately slapped himself internally. Timmy knew that Michael would never do that, no matter how furious he was. 

“Oh my god, you are acting as if I murdered someone. It was just one stupid misunderstanding,” Timmy insisted. 

“A misunderstanding that you apparently caused because you can’t keep that hole shut for a fucking second, can you?”

“Okay, so what you’re tryin’ to say is that me hinting at sucking your cock for money and new clothes to some sleazy fuckers you call colleagues is completely okay?” Timmy scoffed and sat up, deciding to add to that because it seemed that Michael was too self-absorbed to actually realize that not everyone had their asses kissed by the others wherever they came. “But when I actually want to not be treated like a piece of shit and exist without you constantly monitoring every word I say when we’re out together it’s a bad thing?” 

Michael laughed obnoxiously. The same fake laugh he used to give to everybody when he wanted them to love him and now to Timmy also, to mock his attempt to stand up for himself. As if it was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. Timmy shook his head in disbelief. 

“Do you even realize what you’re saying? Are you seriously willing to shit on my name that I’ve been building for years just because you can’t get over yourself for one fucking time?”

Timmy didn’t respond, instead, he watched the veins on Michael’s neck and chest expand while he yelled at him. 

At the same time, he projected the last charity event Michael brought him to. One would’ve thought that it didn’t have to be that bad, since everybody seemed to have a few bits of morals left in them, especially during a philanthropy charade. 

He quickly changed his mind when one of Michael’s partners who owned a chain of homeless shelters in Staten Island groped his ass and gave him a vile grin when Michael went to shake a few hands. Michael and that scumbag shared a wholehearted laugh about it while Timmy just stood there, shook to the core, and trying to get shitfaced as soon as possible for it to be over quickly. Getting over himself meant to be a soulless shell for a few hours. 

“No, Timmy, this is not gonna work. When I tell you to play, you’ll play, because I think I pay you enough to have certain requirements for you as well. Where the hell you think you’re going?”

Michael stood akimbo as Timmy reluctantly left the bed and started walking towards the door, still completely naked. If he was going to be put through a grinder and then disposed of, at least he wanted to enjoy the benefits of staying at Michael’s to the fullest before that.

“I can’t listen to this on an empty stomach. You ruin this, you ruin that, is there ever gonna be a moment when you-” 

Timmy babbled but stopped dead in his tracks when he suddenly faced Michael’s elderly cleaning lady on his way to the kitchen. The sound of her mop hitting the tiles was earth-shattering and Timmy’s hands immediately flew down to cover his crotch. The poor woman looked horrified, gasped for air or words, or both while they both stood there unable to move from the shock. Thankfully, Michael was fast to take hold of the situation before it could get any more awkward. If that was even possible. 

“You are fucking unbelievable,” Michael grunted and grabbed Timmy by his bicep, pulling him back into the bedroom. The tight grip made Timmy wince. Michael then flung him towards the bed and slammed the door shut. 

“Sit your ass down, I’m not done talking to you!” Michael was now considerably pissed. Timmy had planned to brush this all off once he was out of his apartment, but it seemed that Michael was very serious about the issue. 

Timmy gulped and carefully sat down onto the mattress, pulling the sheets over his groin. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Michael like this, like a raging bull, ready to tear apart everything that came into its way. The closest thing now was Timmy and he was scared shitless. 

“Can’t you see what you’re doing? I have no idea how to handle this… you. Good cop, bad cop, nothing works!” Michael growled and rubbed his face so roughly it turned crimson. 

“Is this some sort of game for you? Wrapping people around your finger and then ruining their lives?” 

It was a rhetorical question. Timmy bit his lip, feeling a lump forming in his throat because what Michael said fucking hurt. In fact, Michael was the first person ever for Timmy whom he had this kind of relationship with and he hated when people automatically assumed that he was a slut. 

To Timmy, it never meant to just squeeze money out of Michael. He liked what they had, he genuinely enjoyed his time with him, but to prove such a thing, Timmy couldn’t be in his right mind. 

“I’m not-” 

“No, I don’t want to hear anything! By the way, Miller made it pretty clear yesterday to me that he’d rather not have this type of disturbance brought to the club ever again. Which you can figure out what he meant by that,” Michael interrupted him again. Timmy looked down at his fidgety fingers instead. Michael sighed heavily and towered above Timmy.

“My colleagues, do you think you are bringing them to their knees when they see you? Timmy, they don’t give a fuck about you, you are just a piece of jewelry for them, something nice to ogle for a time being but then they forget. This is my business, my rackets, and you have no right to intervene in that part of my life any more than I want or let you to, am I making myself clear?” 

Michael’s voice softened along with the ugliest thing he could have said. Timmy bit his lip hard enough to draw a bit of blood, leaving a coppery trace on his tongue. 

He felt so ashamed, so humiliated after what he’d heard, that he would only hardly look for something witty to say in return. Timmy knew that prestige was a priority for Michael, he also knew that he was from a big part just a decoration but not that he was an actual object. 

Timmy swallowed in any possible hint of sorrow and just raised his eyebrows in response before he decided it was a good time to leave and started putting on his clothes. Technically, those were Michael’s and he hated the idea of going back on the street in that neon yellow turtleneck, but he didn’t have any other choice. There was no way Timmy could be any more mortified after what Michael just told him. 

“In that case, you might as well find someone else to do this, ’cause I’m out. I can’t believe that you are capable of hurting me like this, even after I told you what really happened. But of course, you are going to believe those assholes instead.” Timmy said, his voice shaking.

The room got quiet after that. The whole situation was ridiculous and seeing Michael sitting naked from the waist up on the bed, looking onto the floor with intertwined fingers, it felt like a marriage quarrel. 

Timmy was already tired of proving to everybody that he was just as worthy of everything as everybody else. It sucked that all places he was currently seeing himself in, he felt too unwanted and so redundant. People in the ballroom community were starting to get used to him, he’d managed to blend in, in a way, but he was still being side-eyed. Was there ever going to be anyone that would accept him as he was? 

“Tim, wait.”

Timmy stormed towards the door once he put the jacket on but Michael’s hand stopped him again. 

“Look, you can’t blame me for being mad. But you need to control yourself no matter where we are because there are a lot of people that can hurt you. I don’t want you to leave but we have to make a compromise, which is you, settling down a little bit, okay?” 

Michael spoke slowly and quietly, eyes tracing every inch of Timmys face in a very strange manner. Timmy could tell he was nervous. He'd never let anyone, let alone Timmy, to walk out on him like this and leave him hanging. No, he rather talked you down, showered you in sweet nothings to lure you back just so that he could kick you out later on himself. But Timmy was yet to find that out. 

Michael rubbed his thumbs against Timmy's cheeks, firmly but somewhat affectionately, watching him fixedly until he reconciled. He realized that if he seriously put an end to this, it would lose everything but on top of all that, he would lose Luca. 

Timmy nodded eventually, making Michael smile widely, giving him a reason why people called him a shark. Timmy couldn’t imagine anything being the same after this, after he'd had the taste of how Michael really saw him. 

“Say, I’m supposed to be in Philadelphia in a few weeks for a couple of days, I hope I can count on you?” 

Timmy’s face was still cradled by Michael’s huge palms. He fought with spitting into his face with gritted teeth when he added, 

“Hmm? Are you going to be a good boy from now on?” Michael purred and kissed the side of Timmy’s neck. And Timmy just shriveled, a lump formed in his throat from how cheap he felt. From how he knew that Michael was keeping him on an invisible leash that he had no way of running away from. 

“I will make everything up to you. Make sure you have such a good time with me.”

Timmy rolled his eyes but nodded without a word and with a bitter smile instead. 

~

Armie cracked open one eye and immediately regretted having done so, quickly he shut it again. The light was too blinding, and an acute pain began throbbing in his temples. God, usually he was good at drinking, his size always giving him an advantage. He could drink just about anyone under the table but last night was a new low. He wanted to tell himself he had no idea why he drank so much but he knew why and the reason was something which he didn't quite wish to confront.

"Oh, look who's up!" He heard Regina's familiar voice. "Rise and shine prince charming," she sang and a pillow hit his face.

"Ouch", groaned Armie, even that soft thud was painful, not to mention the excruciating effort of moving it forced upon him. 

"You're an evil woman," he said through gritted teeth.

"An evil woman would have made you go home, shit faced drunk, and confront your fiancée," she haughtily informed him. "Be grateful I have a good, sturdy pop-out bed." She smirked. "Your long self won't fit just about everywhere. Plus the fact that I basically share the bed with my pager this week."

Her voice sounded far away and each word was triggering faint nausea in him. He breathed deep and tried to make it go away, he knew that the best way to stop it was to give in to it but he simply hated vomiting. And to add to that, his stomach twisted once again when he finally realized what was happening. Armie might have cheated the death yesterday but he couldn't put off the inevitable for too long. Sooner or later he was going to have to face Liz. It was the right time to start to accept it. 

"Sorry, I do appreciate it, Reg," he murmured and tried to open his eyes again.

"Finally, some gratitude!" she laughed and smacked his head with a rolled-up newspaper. "Hallelujah!"

By sheer will power, he managed to look at her and keep his eyes open, the bright morning light coming from the window was killing him but as he struggled against it, it became more and more tolerable.

"Can I have some coffee? My head is killing me," he croaked, trying to sit up.

Regina looked at him with an _are you shitting me_ look and clicked her tongue. "Yeah, and while you're at it, make me some too." She rolled her eyes.

Armie tried the doe-eyed _pretty please_ look that always worked on Liz and his mother but for some reason, Regina seemed immune to it. 

"What?" she asked, nonplussed. "This ain't no bed and breakfast and I ain't your maid."

Armie let out a huff and tried to pull himself up, he knew better than to argue with his godmother.

Regina stood, arms akimbo, and watched him struggle. 

"Yeah… drag your sorry self, that's right," she sneered. "Crying shame..." She chided him as he wobbled, holding onto a nearby wall to steady himself. He was never this hungover and if he was he didn't remember it.

"Less lip, Reg, please," he begged as he padded towards her tiny kitchen. "I'm already in pain," he moaned as he passed by her.

He struggled with making coffee but a few minutes later they sat down, each nursing a hot cup of coffee. Armie could feel it's invigorating powers already shaping up his fogged mind.

"Speaking of pain, you're in for some," said Regina, looking at him intently. "What'cha gonna tell Liz?" she wondered.

That was a really good question. 

"I have no idea," he admitted. It was a good idea not to come home last night, there was no telling what Liz would have done if she saw him like that but then again he was now in even more trouble.

"Why don't you start practicing," she suggested and Armie could tell that she was enjoying it. 

She wasn't much of a fan of Liz and that was probably the reason why she harbored him last night. Not so much as a favor for him but as a defying act towards Liz, hoping that his lack of presence might drive Liz up the wall. she wasn't too far off.

Instead of trying the watered-down version of the truth, he ended up telling Regina the whole of it. The innocent enough invitation for a drink after work, the sex club fiasco, and even Fassbender's gay tryst with his toyboy. Everything but the blowjob, that was something he would carry to his grave.

"Lord almighty," she chuckled as she sipped her brew. "That's some boss you have!"

"I just sat there dumbfounded as he plied me," said Armie, he still couldn't believe last night actually happened. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked.

Regina looked at him, eyebrows knitted. "Say, sorry mister but I'm leaving this here sex club?" she suggested.

"I need him to like me, Reg, he can get me places," said Armie but he himself wasn't quite sure of his own defense strategy. 

Last night was confusing in more than one way. Finally, he allowed himself to think of that boy, Timmy. God, that was strangest of all. The kid was like a magnet, pulling Armie in without his consent. He knew he had certain feelings towards men, but he tried his best to ignore those them for the most part of his life. 

Last night that kid hit a nerve, making it so much harder a task. Gorgeous and reckless, he was obviously taunting him. From such subtle moves as asking for a smoke, to actually hitting on him and then that tantalizing scene in the fish tank room. He could still remember Timmy's naked body, withering and undulating. His long, elegant cock hard and straining against his concave belly as he fucked himself on Fassbender's shaft. That was too much, if he thought about it any longer, he'd be hard himself.

"Some nasty ass, low life places," said Regina, bringing him back to the present. "Sorry baby, I'm not impressed. You should stay clear off, he's bad news."

"Easier said than done," murmured Armie. 

Fassbender was the key figure at Lehnsherr and Xavier -- impress him, become his confidant and you were a shoo-in for stardom. No, there was too much at stake here to actually flip the guy off, he would just have to play his game and try not to get into too much trouble. 

Regina seemed to pick up on his attitude. "Right, now skedaddle," she said, she wasn't one to force her opinion but she disliked being overruled. Armie knew she was probably right but he was in no position to take her sound advice. 

"I've got a shift this afternoon at the hospital and I'd like me some peace and quiet," she said and Armie knew she wasn't bluffing.

As an ER attending physician at Mount Sinai, she had her hands full and did not need his bullshit.

"Thanks for everything," he said as they hugged by the door.

"What are friends for?" asked Regina as he stooped down and allowed her to kiss his forehead. 

For some reason, Regina always felt like a second mother to him. He couldn't remember a time when she wasn't there, always hovering in the background of his formative years, to lend a hand or ear. Never judging, just full of wit and sarcasm. With her, he could share things he never dreamed of telling his mother. 

"Don't make this a habit though, Armand, or I'm gonna tell your mama," she laughed.

"Don't be a snitch, Reg," he quipped and winked at her before going out the door.

"I'm kidding, call me anytime," she called out after him and he turned around.

"Just be careful around the guy, he doesn't sound right to me," she said, no witty remark this time but real care.

He smiled and nodded, deciding not to press the matter.

"Right, so home..." he mused. Why was he so scared suddenly? He was a grown man and Liz wasn't his wife yet, he had a right to do whatever he wanted. 

He remembered the woman from last night, no, that was definitely not a part of his rights. He was a weak, sniveling asshole for doing that, and being drunk was just an excuse. The fact that he was more anxious to get in trouble than actually feeling bad with himself should have told him something about the nature of his relationship with Liz but he quickly tucked it back, ignoring it.

Regina sighed. “Be brave and remember, the woman is always right, so don't argue with her," she said as she put both hands on his shoulders. "You fucked up, take it like a man."

"Ha!" he quipped. 

Whatever lousy blood she and Liz had between them, Regina obviously still thought him guilty enough to take her side. Maybe it was some sort of women comradely or some other feminist bond but she made sure he knew his place in the scheme of things, just a weak-minded man and perhaps she was right. He wondered how he would feel if Liz pulled something like this on him, surprisingly the word relief came to mind and that was very fucked up.

"Ha-ha...go on," she spun him around and shoved him out the door once again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://kentaurslegs.tumblr.com/) if you wanted to yell at me for any reason or just hang out :)


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